


Sweet Sweet Sweet

by Heavybomb (Rhoadstar)



Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Armada
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Macro/Micro, PWP, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Sappy, Secret Relationship, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Kink Meme, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:37:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhoadstar/pseuds/Heavybomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old Transformers Kink Meme fill I did about three years ago: </p><p>"So after another anon posted this http://img829.imageshack.us/img829/3581/16037590m.jpg<br/>I kinda went HELL YA to their request, having seen the Blaster/Soundwaxe fic with similar size difference, then took a look at the pic.<br/>And because this anon adores the size kink but can take or leave the non-con, new ideas happened.</p><p>So Prime and his minicon, consensual.<br/>Sticky or non sticky, use toys, tools, random things that are lying around, glossae (does Prime's mask ever come off in Armada? I forget. If it doesn't, well we can bend canon a bit, this is a kink meme.)</p><p>What really would get me is Sparkplug being manipulated (oh-so-gently) by Prime's hands, to different positions or just to move a limb slightly, and absolutely loving it. Mental image of him lying completely strutless on Prime's hands, arms over his thumbs and legs akimbo."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Sweet Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> "the swelling in my slender chest  
> and the kiss on my moist lips  
> are for your sake alone"
> 
> -'Sweet Sweet Sweet', by DREAMS COME TRUE

It was comforting to know, Prime thinks as he enters his private quarters, that Sparkplug would always wait up for him no matter how long it took the Autobot leader to complete his late night rounds. It had taken him a great deal of time to develop immunity to Sparkplug’s pleading optics, but Optimus had finally managed not to let the small ‘bot finagle his way out of much needed downtime in order to accompany Prime on time-consuming errands. Sparkplug, ever so helpful, liked to push himself to the limit to help and assist his partner, and while Optimus normally appreciated his eagerness to please, he found himself being a bit more protective than usual about Sparkplug's energy levels. In between battles, dodging Decepticons and getting into more mischief than he thought possible with their human friends, Sparkplug also enjoyed helping around the base, and was the first to tire out after a long day. However, even with Sparkplug's more than admirable work ethic, Optimus preferred the Mini-con not over-do it.

The doors lock themselves behind Optimus as he makes his way into the dimly-lit room, and he immediately casts his gaze upon the Mini-con sized hub and berth station on the corner of his work desk. Sparkplug had been reclining on his berth, scrolling idly through the pages of a miniscule data pad Red Alert had crafted especially for him, but the device clattered uselessly to the ground the second Prime had keyed open the door. Wide, ruby red optics flare with sheer -joy- at the sight of his partner; the diminutive Mini-con trills loudly at Optimus from his position on the desk, and waves his arms in an excited greeting. In return, Optimus finds himself completely unable to keep himself from smiling behind his battle mask, antennae laying back momentarily.

“Good evening, little one. I trust you’ve stayed out of trouble today?“ He approaches the desk and it’s lone occupant, easing into the large chair before it with a hiss of depressurizing joints and hydraulics. Sparkplug runs to the edge of the desk where his Prime settled, and Optimus holds out his hand to allow the yellow Mini-con to climb upon it. He brings Sparkplug up within his field of perception and listens patiently to the rapid-fire clicks and beeps and whirls of the other’s complex language. The massive bot holds back a chuckle of amusement as Sparkplug pauses long enough to pull in a deep draw of air through his intakes before promptly finishing up his energetic ramblings with a tone of finality. He had planted his hands on his hips and pursed his lips, giving the large ’bot a look the Prime found endearing.

Optimus draws in closer and chuckles softly. This routine never grew old. “I see. And you‘ll be wanting a reward for such good behaviour," he states, shifting minutely on his seat. A pleasant tingle of anticipation flickers down his back struts, EM field humming lowly. A pleasurable conclusion to this evening depended entirely on Sparkplug's response to the teasing prompt, and to Optimus's satisfaction the Mini-con did not disappoint.

Sparkplug smiles coyly up at his partner, turning this way and that before planting his black hands on the smooth metal of Prime’s battle mask. The touch was light, barely registering on his sensor-network, but Prime still feels the warmth of Sparkplug’s affection radiating through the feather-light kiss he plants on the crease of his mask. It's even more noticeable from the almost ticklish flare of the Mini-con's tiny EM field. The large truck rumbles in appreciation, optics glittering in amusement as the vibrations travel through Sparkplug’s tiny frame, wringing out a chirp of pure delight and enticing the little 'bot to sink down onto his knees on Optimus's wide palm.  
Sparkplug sits back onto his heels and gives Optimus a look of open invitation, stroking his black hands along the length of his thighs. A pulse of excitement quickens Prime's sparkbeat, bringing with it the stirrings of arousal and a fierce possessiveness over the lovely, tiny 'bot in his hand. Sparkplug was his, had been his since Cybertron, and yet the threat of Megatron claiming all of the Mini-cons, including the fearless, big-sparked microbot, made Prime's mandible clench in a brief flare of anger. Just remembering how close the Decepticons were to claiming Sparkplug's Mini-con panel, using him against his will... His internals lets out a low, rumbling growl in reaction, a fine tremor running through his hand.

Sparkplug pauses in his actions and beeps, cocking his head to the side curiously. Optimus starts guiltily for breaking routine, and quiets his engine, optics crinkling into an apologetic smile.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, giving a low chuckle at Sparkplug’s suddenly suspicious look. The Mini-con, having been linked to his most intimate of systems during their power combining, knew him all too well, and always seemed to be able to discern whether or not his partner was trying to hide something. Optimus gently nudges Sparkplug with his mask affectionately, laughing softly as the Mini-con rocked backwards against his curled fingers with an amused bleep, and feels his spark swell with love even further. Sparkplug's sweet, round face scrunches up a bit before he releases a soft puff of air from his vents, and he reaches up with fingers outstretched to stroke along the curve of the Prime’s battle mask. He slides them along the smooth, cool surface before he gives it a tap, and initiates a coquettish refresh of his optics. Optimus allows the protective plating to retract at Sparkplug’s silent request.

No sooner had he done that, Sparkplug resettles upon his knees and presses his pursed mouth plates against the lush swell of Optimus's bottom lip components with a low hum of contentment. Optimus reaches up with his free hand and strokes a single digit down Sparkplug's back, brushing over the sweet curve of his aft, and relishes the tiny tremor and subtle increase of heat in the yellow armor. He is careful as he nudges Sparkplug higher, the Mini-con bracing his hands against the rippled ridges of his helm protrusion. The kiss was returned with the most subtle of pressure against the microbot's chestplates, absorbing the heat radiating from his hidden spark.

Sparkplug sighs contently, and Optimus's lip plating curves into a faint smile. The microbot wriggles his hips with a sultry little chirp, and an all too familiar sound of plating shifting hisses from between his legs.

Optimus's engine revs in response.

  
*

Sparkplug pants loudly through his vents, static-y exhalations threaded with soft, high-pitched moans. The fine point of Optimus’s glossa continues to flicker eagerly at Sparkplug’s leaking valve-port, briefly dipping inside it's buzzing warmth to Sparkplug‘s delight. The barely-there hint of the mini-con’s lubricant is sweet and delicate on Optimus’s glossa, and the larger bot longs for a stronger taste. He drags the delicate ridges of his glossa up and over Sparkplug’s interface array, teases the wires between hip- and thigh-plating, and leaves behind a glistening trail of his own oral lubricants. By the time he was done with Sparkplug, he decides, engine giving a lustful rev, the Mini-con was going to need a thorough scrubbing down.

Sparkplug’s entire frame trembles, helpless under the determined assault, and the look on his faceplates is one of bliss. Optimus stares down at him hungrily, committing the sight of his Mini-con drunk off the pleasure to his memory banks. It's moments like these that, no matter how hard it was for them to keep their relationship a secret, they bring him so much pleasure and joy to be the cause for the Mini-con’s ecstasy. After what he and his people had gone through, Sparkplug more than deserved the right to be happy and loved.

Contrary to Sparkplug’s sweet disposition and child-like curiosity at the strangeness of Earth, he was still a fully grown adult with needs like any other bot, but it was hard for the others to fully comprehend such a thing with his small stature. Optimus, however, had known Sparkplug for so long, and had been educated in the ways of the Mini-cons. He was not one to allow himself to be willfully ignorant and assume their size and sparkling, drone-like language meant a level of immaturity; the processor-blowing abilities the small bots possessed was also another factor. The taboo of taking their partnerships beyond what they were might have been unspoken and undefined, but it was still very present and an underlying threat to their reputations. Everyone else automatically put their partners along the lines of the three children who had endeared themselves to them, and the scale of power in those relationships was definitely tipped in the much larger Cybertronians favor.

At the moment, though, if one were to ask the Prime who was in charge? They wouldn’t have to look any further than the lax bundle of joints and armor in the palm of his hand.

Sparkplug's optics refocuses sharply, picking up the faint emotions leaking through Optimus's desire-filled EM field and strokes his delicate servos down his chassis, trailing his fingers through the slick leavings at the base of his spike before slipping lower. His ruby optics locks onto the Autobot leader's own lust-bright yellow ones, and Sparkplug gives the much larger bot a sly little grin that melts into a silent, open mouthed gasp. Optimus finds himself letting out a deep groan as he sharpens his optics, watching as the Mini-con pushes two of his slender digits deep into his tiny, dripping valve-port.

More, more, more, Sparkplug's optics seem to beg him, and Optimus is helpless to resist. The Mini-con's limbs are unresisting as the Prime gently hooks his thumb under one of Sparkplug's knee joints, lifting the slender limb up and out of the way. His free hand gropes for the access panel on the inside of his forearm armor, disengaging the lock that kept his medical access ports and output plug hidden away. Sparkplug's tiny sparkbeat grows more frantic with anticipation, and he warbles loudly in that musical voice of his, a demand that has Optimus chuckling from the impatience of it.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs lowly, grasping the warm, slender tip of his data transfer cable between forefinger and thumb. “It’s coming, sweet spark.“ Teasingly he draws the retractable cord out, relishing the hot flash of Sparkplug’s optics. Ensuring the mini-con’s leg stayed in the position he held it in, Optimus brings the jack of his cord between Sparkplug’s spread legs, dragging the very tip along a near invisible seam on the inside of his lover’s thigh. Sparkplug positively shivers and removes his fingers from himself, stuffing the slick digits between his own lips instead. He trembles in anticipation, optics wide and flickering as the jack draws closer and closer to his port, and lets out a whimper at the barely-there brush of the metal against the rim. His fingers pop out of his mouth, and slide down the heated curve of his chest plate before delving into the seams where thigh met pelvic plating, pressing and rubbing and, oh, the sounds he made.

Optimus takes pity on his diminutive lover and presses his jack slowly into Sparkplug’s valve-port, his own intake hitching from the first jolt of spark-energy surging through the conductive fluid of the Mini-con‘s interfacing lubricants. His spike throbs, trapped in the too-hot plating that covers his own interfacing unit, but the Prime stubbornly ignores it for the time being. Right now, his main concern is the ecstatic Mini-con panting loudly, doing his best to obey the warning pressure of Optimus’s thumb pinning his leg in place.

Pleased with Sparkplug’s determined obedience, Optimus slowly withdraws the jack before pushing it back in with a bit more force, chuckling lowly at the disappointed moan that quickly shifts into a high-pitched squeak. The bursts of data packets from the cord generated sharp little tingles from failed connections, and although the notices popping up in his HUD were annoying, it was worth the small irritations knowing that the little sparks of energy made Sparkplug practically mindless with pleasure.

Optimus draws a bit of pleasure of his own in ’spiking’ the mini-con with the jack, using sharp, shallow thrusts that have Sparkplug keening with each push. His small hands wrap around his spike, stroking and tugging to match the pace Optimus set, covered in the silvery transfluid that leaks wildly from the too-hot unit. Optimus feasts on the sight, murmuring low, heated words of encouragement as Sparkplug took his pleasure, static lacing his stream of incoherent vocalizations.

However, the tiny bot was unprepared when Optimus gives one final, firm push, letting his jack fully click inside of his valve-port, completing the long-denied connection. A jolt went through small systems, alighting every sensor with overwhelming surges of energy, data coursing through his circuits and promptly overloading Sparkplug on the spot. His optics flare in one brief flash, mouth open in another one of those silent gasps as his body seizes up in intense pleasure. The sudden release of rebounding energy shoots through their connection, and Optimus finds himself reeling in shock at the returned assault from the data transfer, engine giving a loud rev that drowned out all other sound in the room.

*

Sparkplug lays limp and boneless in Optimus's grasp, even as the Prime carefully wipes him clean, even through the gentle motions of the buffing cloth polishing his armor to a near mirror-finish. Contentment is the only thing that radiates from his satiated EM field, and the smile that curves his lip components is more than smugly satisfied. He sleepily chirps, making grabby hands in the direction of Optimus's access cables, and the larger 'bot shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

  
“Do not worry about my pleasure,” he insists, taking great care as he places Sparkplug onto his little recharging berth. “Watching you take your own was enough for me.” He connects him to the recharge platform with easy, practiced motions, unable to keep himself from pressing a light kiss to the warm chestplates before him. “Rest. There is always tomorrow.”

  
And holding the Prime to that promise, the little mini-con coos, and powers his tired systems down.  
***

**Author's Note:**

> I have a soft spot for smol, cute things, and I was super lucky to have come across this on my old hard-drive! Thought I'd dust it off and post it.


End file.
